


hope tomorrow is a better day

by deadbrave



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 12:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbrave/pseuds/deadbrave
Summary: The dog days of the Peleliu campaign on repeat. Groundhog Day Au.Andy watched it happen; saw the bullet pierce Eddie’s abdomen, his long arms flailing as he fell back against the stretcher, limp, blood soaking his already stained uniform. Andy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only stare at Eddie’s unmoving form, praying to a God he surely did not believe in that Eddie was not dead and once he was down here,with Andy,they’d be able to save him.
Relationships: Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane/Edward "Hillbilly" Jones
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Loose Lips Sink Ships Prompt Meme





	hope tomorrow is a better day

Every day on Peleliu was the exact same, or at the very least, wasn’t discernable from the next to Andy. Burning, scorching heat, unbearably bright sunlight; every day was the same yet somehow compounding excruciatingly. Andy was only twenty-seven, though he looked and felt far older. Weaker by the day, exhaustion wore the Captain down to his barest bones, exposed his vulnerable core to the elements, carved to a sharp point. Andy was losing weight in his refusal to allow any of his men to skip even one meal, his hair was graying and creating a perfect caricature of his father; his hope for any victorious outcome was fading fast. The only reason that Andy forced himself out of his foxhole every morning was because K Company and most especially Eddie were depending on him to lead them through these troubling times. 

All had become shrouded by chaos as soon as King Company had landed on Peleliu; the combat had only gotten rougher the further they’d pushed into and through enemy lines. Unacceptable casualties was a phrase that Andy had repeated to the brass countless times, over and over again those words fell on deaf ears. He could do everything in his power to protect the men in his care and they would still perish because the fact of the matter was that the higher-ups did not give a damn how many people died as long as they got what they wanted--the sacrifice was displaced enough from their day to day that it was inconsequential, the death that had begun to pile around Andy and box him in was meaningless to them as long as their goal was met. Andy’s faith in just cause was wearing thin, grinding to ash that he couldn’t wipe off, no matter how raw his skin became after brushing against his dungarees. 

Andy startled awake at the feeling of a scalding hot hand burning a hole through his shoulder, eyes cracked just enough to note that the person touching him was not, in fact, a danger, in the hopes that he could protect his eyes from the blistering heat of the sun for a moment longer. Eddie’s lips wore his nearly omnipresent crooked grin, amused by the Captain’s displeasure. “You better have a good reason for waking me up, Eddie, I was having a nice dream.” 

“Oh yeah? Of what?” Eddie took the bait as he stood as best he could in their tiny foxhole, tugging his shirt on over his shoulders. 

“Somewhere warm, though not muggy like this. Sunny. Nowhere I have to be, nothing mandatory I have to do.” Andy mused, groaning as he leaned back to stretch his aching muscles. “In the company of someone I love.” 

“Uh-huh. ‘nd who might that’ve been? Yer Ma? Gunny Hanney?” Eddie prodded while he threw his M1 over his shoulder, brows arched mischievously. 

“I think you know who, you ass.” Andy pressed his boot just slightly against Eddie’s instep, hard enough to feel but not enough to actually hurt so Eddie knew that he was not at all appreciative of the gentle jab directed toward him. 

“I may have some idea. C’mon. A messenger came for ya.” Eddie wrapped a companionable arm around Andy’s shoulder and dragged him in the direction that he was needed. 

“I should’ve known! Finally, a suitor comes to ask for my hand in marriage so that I may no longer need to face each day alone.” Andy only managed to hold a straight face for so long until he dissolved into a fit of weary laughter. Eddie shook his head, though managed to hold back his mirth, instead shoving Andy forward. 

“Hilarious. I’m sure he’ll share tha same sentiment.” 

“You never know, Eddie. Maybe he’ll actually have a sense of humor, unlike you.” 

“Fuck you.” 

  
  


The roar of the mortars soaring overheard would’ve been deafening if Andy’s heart wasn’t pounding so violently in his chest, blood rushing impossibly loud behind his ears. The thing Andy hated most about their campaign in Peleliu was that it felt entirely out of his control, more so than usual. The marines were at a disadvantage, trapped like fish in a barrel for the Japanese who were eager to crush the American brutes underneath an unyielding boot. There was only one person that Andy trusted to move ahead of him to scope out the situation, only one person that Andy would ever send in his stead to get a job done that was absolutely necessary, and that was Eddie. Perhaps that stubborn behavior wasn’t advisable, but Andy had been in the company of many commanding officers, and none were as competent as his First Lieutenant. 

When word came down the line that Hillbilly had been wounded by an explosion and he needed evac, Andy found it entirely too difficult to maintain a clear head, panic rising in the back of his throat as he resisted the urge to just run up the damn Ridge himself and drag Eddie back down out of harm’s way. After all, he was the idiot who had sent him up there, wasn’t he? Alas, no, Andy had, on a larger scope, bigger fish to fry--he had to remain down here to direct his men, no matter who was wounded. He’d told Burgie the evening before that he’d need some of his men to be stretcher-bearers, and he needed them to serve their purpose now. Andy met Sledge’s eyes and held his gaze, desperation leaking forth freely from his pores. 

“Stretchers, go! Direct run!” A part of Andy registered the fear mulling inside Eugene, one that tore viciously at its bondage to be freed, to reassure the young private that there was nothing to be afraid of, but as he, himself, was shit terrified at the moment, it would feel as sharp as a lie that could ever fall from his tongue, so he refrained and watched Sledge and Shelton scale the dusty coral path without looking back. Andy could feel his pulse in his throat as he absently gave orders, numb to everything but the concern rushing through him, the tepid hope that Eddie would return in one piece. 

Eventually, a group rose over the crest of the ridge; Sledge, Snafu, and De L’Eau with Eddie on the stretcher so wrought with pain that he couldn’t hide it from his features. Andy’s chest stiffened as though it were being squeezed in a vice. Eddie was not a person that expressed emotions freely, in fact, he often buried them beneath his gruff exterior and rough manner of speaking, so the fact that his agony was visible was entirely too concerning to the Captain. He wrestled with the urge to just climb up there himself and bring Eddie the rest of the way, cradle him close to his chest as though he’d be able to heal him through touch and care alone. 

Andy watched it happen; saw the bullet pierce Eddie’s abdomen, his long arms flailing as he fell back against the stretcher, limp, blood soaking his already stained uniform. Andy couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only stare at Eddie’s unmoving form on the stretcher, praying to a God he surely did not believe in that Eddie was not dead and once he was down here,  _ with Andy _ , they’d be able to save him. 

“Fall back!” Burgie’s voice shook Andy from his stupor, reminding the Captain that there were still men at play who needed to be returned safely to shore, sheep needing to be flocked, wide-eyed and afraid. “Fall back!” 

“Get on up here!” Andy didn’t even realize he was shouting orders, second nature to a man who’d had command thrust on him far too early. The group ran through mortar shelling and dodged bullets, taking great care to protect the person in their custody when it was already too late for him.  _ Not too late _ . Once they’d gotten back down the ridge, Andy made haste toward Eddie’s side, crouching beside the stretcher where he lay, unmoving, coated in dust, dirt, and debris. He wanted to reach out and brush the grime from Eddie’s face, ached to press a palm to his chest, to feel that steady heartbeat beneath his skin. Instead, all Andy could do was stare at the man he loved, mouth gaped, eyes watering, unable to touch him as he’d like to. 

“Eddie?” Andy found himself asking as if just his name could wake the other man from his slumber, as if this was only temporary. Eddie did not respond and Andy couldn’t catch his breath. “Eddie?” His tone was almost pleading now; begging the Lieutenant to open his eyes. “Eddie.” This time it wasn’t a question; Andy slammed his jaw shut and bit down on his tongue in an attempt to hold back the tears, gaze lifting to the horizon, no longer able to look at the lifeless form of his partner. “Take him back.” Andy wasn’t sure who he was speaking to, as he couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and stood, turning his back to a sight he could not look at for one more minute. Eddie was dead and it was entirely Andy’s fault, as all the deaths they’d suffered had been. 

For the first time in a long time, Andy was alone in a foxhole, poncho wrapped haphazardly around him, eyes so dry they burned every time the hot wind whipped through the area. Sniffling, Andy brushed his thumb against the bumps of Eddie’s dog tag, the cool metal not soothing the deep ache in the base of Andy’s chest, lingering and sharp like an old wound. He longed to trace the lines of Eddie’s skin, to feel the comforting presence of his companion beside him when instead all he had was the residual smell of Eddie in his clothes and the sound of his voice ringing in his ears. In the eerie silence of the camp, lacking even the normal quiet banter and sounds of life, Andy allowed himself to cry; painful, heartbroken sobs rocking through his body until eventually, the pain lulled him into a fretful sleep wrought with horrifying nightmares and cold, dead eyes. 

Andy had hoped that he wouldn’t wake up, which was a thought that should’ve been scarier than it was to a man so burdened by grief and despair. The hand on his shoulder was unwelcome and scalding hot; he shoved it away without guilt. Whoever it was could wait a damn minute. They laughed at his reaction which had irritation rear its ugly head before Andy realized who was laughing. But that was-- “Eddie?” 

“Who else would be in yer foxhole so early in tha mornin’? Should I be concerned, Skip?” Eddie replied, Andy was now bold enough to open his eyes and see that yes, it was, in fact, Eddie knelt beside him in the dirt. Oh.  _ It must’ve been a bad dream _ . Relief flooded through the Captain and he relaxed, comforted in the knowledge. 

“Why? Would you be jealous?” Andy questioned, stretching his long legs as far in front of him as he could to relieve the pain from the position he’d been sleeping in. 

“Nah, I figure I’m lucky enough as is tha you’d pursue me for as long as ya have,” Eddie was self-deprecative as always, and Andy reached out with his toes to press against the Lieutenant's instep, frowning as he met Eddie’s gaze. 

“Shut up. You deserve more.” More than what,  _ him _ ? Or more than this damned war offered, more than they’d both gotten as soon as they’d signed their souls away to the United States Military which was doing its damndest to put them both into an early grave, a grave that, up until a moment ago, Andy believed Eddie to be in. 

Eddie cleared his throat and looked away, cheeks the barest hint of pink at the mere notion that Andy was paying him a compliment. “C’mon. A messenger came fer ya.” Andy stiffened, blood running cold as he remembered that that had happened in his dream  _ before _ \--. “No need to look like yer facin’ tha gallows, Cap’n. I promise ya he won’t bite. Probably. If he does, ya can probably get him court-martialled.” 

Before Andy could argue, Eddie’s strong fingers wrapped around Andy’s arm and lifted him, dusting the dirt off of his greens, carefully adjusting his helmet so it wouldn’t fall from its precarious position on his head. “‘nother day in paradise.” 

_ This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. _ Andy couldn’t help but repeat the phrase over and over in his head as he watched Eddie lead a handful of men up Bloody Nose Ridge, nimble and efficient as ever. The call came down,  _ again _ , that Hillbilly had been wounded by a mortar blast. Again, Andy had no choice but to send Sledge and Snafu up the ridge to collect their Lieutenant, and again, he had to watch with his heart in his throat at the pause and slow descent of the group with a stretcher in their possession. Before they even reached him, Andy knew that Eddie was dead. He had to be, as this had already happened. He had to check anyway, had to make certain that what he had prophesied had, in fact, occurred, crouching beside Eddie’s corpse in the sand, throat raw and ragged. 

This time, Andy reached out a shaking hand and placed his open palm against Eddie’s chest, still warm, though lacking the heartbeat that had long become the soundtrack to Andy’s day-to-day life, the familiar comfort of the rise and fall of Eddie’s ribs. No. “ _ No _ .” Andy hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until he felt a hand on his shoulder, Burgie, which he brushed off, tears burning hot as they fell down his cheeks. Andy’s fingers circled Eddie’s dog tags and tore one free himself this time, gaze steely as it met Sledge’s. “Take him back.” Andy stood and stared at Eddie for a long, quiet moment; burning his features into his memory as a reminder of his failures, of what happened when he let his guard down for even a moment on these damned islands. 

That night, sleep did not find the Captain until pink began to spill onto the horizon like ink against parchment, heavy lids slipping shut as the warmth of the sun washed over him. Not too long after, Andy could feel fingers against the fabric of his jacket; this time, he shoved the person away, unable to bear the thought of someone touching him when he deserved no hint of mercy. 

“What tha hell, Andy?” That was Eddie’s voice.  _ How did someone steal Eddie’s voice? _ Andy blinked as he was met with the bright light of the sun, covering his eyes with his hand as he stared in disbelief at the man sprawled across the foxhole in front of him. This couldn’t be. Eddie was dead, had certainly died, as Andy had to live through the event twice now. How was it possible that the Lieutenant was here now, alive and unmarred? 

“Eddie?” 


End file.
